


a ghost in this burning sea

by carrieevew



Series: in these words I want to hear a heartbeat [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 06, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieevew/pseuds/carrieevew
Summary: days after Josephine took over her body, Clarke Griffin wakes up.





	a ghost in this burning sea

**Author's Note:**

> i've basically spent this whole last week thinking about Clarke waking up and today, i finally manage to write it all down and give it some shape. hope you guys enjoy it even half as much as i'm excited about what's gonna happen this season.
> 
> title from _[Burning Sea (ft. Tomasz Mreńca)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoNdv6cY-Es)_ by Daniel Spaleniak.

The bright light blinded her and Clarke blinked against it until her vision cleared. She looked around as her surroundings took shape and there was something so eerily familiar about the white corridor but it didn’t come back to her until she heard glass crunching beneath her boots.

 _Mount Weather_.

She took a step closer and looked through the broken window into the room she broke out of, the IV stand against the door, the sack discarded on the floor and the fluid in a puddle on the floor. She looked down at herself and recognised her old gear, her long hair cascading around her shoulders.

There was something wrong, though. Something was missing.

She moved further, towards the rest of the complex and the feeling of incompletion only intensified. She passed doors thrown open, chairs and tables pushed against the walls, equipment in disarray or broken on the floor.

Clarke reached the dining hall and saw the long tables covered in plates and cutlery, as if abandoned suddenly. There were no people there, though, and the silence was deafening.

Clarke took a few steps further and with her right foot, she accidentally kicked a football. The sound of it bouncing against a table leg seemed so loud that her ears started ringing. And then she heard the rest of it rushing in—the sound of people running down the corridors, shouting. The fans spinning above her head, spreading the fresh, deadly air around the compound.

The memories flooded her mind and Clarke let out a soft sob. She stumbled and caught herself on the back of the nearest chair, and blinked against the tears that filled her eyes.

“Hey, kiddo,” a voice called about from behind her and Clarke spun around, looking for the source of it. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw her father walking towards her, a soft smile on his face.

“Dad,” she whispered and threw herself into his arms when he reached her.

She buried her face into his neck and sobbed into his collar, while Jake rubbed slow circles into her back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, confused, when she stepped out of her father’s embrace and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her mind was still reeling, the memories rushing in making her head spin but she did remember that one thing—her father was never there with her.

“I’m here to help you out of here.”

“I just—I don’t understand. We did get out already. Didn’t we?”

Clarke frowned and closed her eyes, hoping to clear the cloud of confusion. She tried to fight against the chaos in her head but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong. And then, she felt her father’s hands on her cheeks, his thumb stroking gently at the side of her face, his voice gentle as he spoke.

“Honey, you need to focus,” Jake said and Clarke opened her eyes slowly. He nodded encouragingly. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I remember—” Clarke shook her head. “I remember I was—scared. And I couldn’t move.

“I remember Russell telling me _not to cry_. And he was thanking me. Why was he—?” Her voice hitched as the feeling of absolute powerlessness and terror washed over her body and mind but no explanation came with it.

Her hands started to shake, her breathing became laboured and Clarke felt herself heading towards a panic attack, when her father called her name.

“Clarke! Look at me and breathe.”

She nodded, a deep breath in and a shuddering exhale out, her eyes filling with tears again.

“You’re okay,” Jake reassured her but Clarke knew, without being able to explain how, that she definitely wasn’t.

And then, with each breath she took, the storm around her calmed down and she was able to focus on the details that her mind was feeding her. She remembered Russell taking something from his wife. She remember Simone telling him to prepare Clarke and Russell saying that her mind is going to be erased.

Her hand went automatically to the back of her neck and felt up the old and faded scar that was now just a faint line. Only the longer she rubbed against it now, it no longer felt old. It felt fresh and ragged, and painful.

Her eyes snapped up towards her father and the sad expression he wore told her everything. They put another chip in her and it took over, so she was stuck—trapped—inside her own head.

As Clarke was able to focus and sort through her own memories more clearly, she noticed the surroundings around them changing. Mount Weather was slowly fading into darkness and instead, behind her father, she could see the world outside, somehow.

Only those were no longer her memories, they couldn’t have been. Not when she saw Russell and Simone standing right next to her, flanking her against her own people, who were now looking at her with disbelief and confusion.

It all felt like she was standing behind a glass wall—able to see everything but the voices were distant and distorted. Clarke listened to Russell telling everyone what he’d said to her before—the mind of the host is erased, but she didn’t feel a thing, and she gave them a beautiful gift. 

Her throat tightened again as her vision went black for a split second, like she wasn’t quite able to keep her hold on the memories— _Josephine’s_ memories.

Josephine, whose eyes were roaming around the group with a smugness that reached all the way to Clarke. And then, her head—Josephine’s head—snapped towards Bellamy, when she heard his voice.

“No,” he said forcefully, his face contorted in barely contained fury. Clarke’s heart skipped a beat but Josephine only snorted and looked away. It was only in the corner of her eye, that she registered Bellamy taking a step forward and Miller stepping in front of him.

Clarke couldn’t hear what they were saying, not that Josephine cared enough to pay attention, her head already turning away in dismissal, but even she didn’t miss the murderous look that Bellamy sent towards her and the rest of the Lightbournes.

Clarke’s hands itched to reach out to him, to let him know that she was still inside but she knew there was no use. It was an old memory, who knew how much time had passed since then, and besides, she knew she no longer had any control of her body.

Clarke could feel her grasp on the memory slip away but she managed to catch one last glimpse of Madi and her heart shattered into a million pieces at she saw her daughter’s face fall, all signs of the commander gone from her eye. All that was left was a little girl who just learnt that her mother died. Madi looked up and into Josephine’s eyes, with tears rolling down her face.

Clarke deflated as the memory faded away completely, all the fight going out of her. Grief and misery took over instead and for a moment, she just couldn’t find any more strength to go on.

It was a freak accident that she was still there. She had absolutely no control and no way to fight back—or even any reason to believe that she had any chance of coming back.

Or maybe she wasn’t even there at all. Maybe she really was dying and those were just the last impulses firing before her mind dissolved. Maybe all she had to do was let go and Russell would be right – she could finally be in peace.

Clarke’s knees buckled and she nearly fell to the ground but her father caught her in time and they both kneeled down slowly.

“You can’t give up, Clarke,” Jake said, his voice gentle but commanding.

Clarke turned her head to the side to look at him. Jake smiled softly and brushed the hair out of her face. It was short again, the ends tickling her chin just like it used to when she first cut it, before she got used to it. She was wearing the blue dress again, too.

 _The one she died it_.

She grabbed her father’s hand and squeezed it hard, her nails digging into his skin but Jake’s didn’t even react, his face remained calm, just like it did when Clarke was 7 and she twisted her ankle falling down the stairs. Just like then, her father brushed the tears from her face.

“You have to be strong. And you have to go back,” Jake said firmly. “Your life isn’t over, Clarke, it’s been stolen. You have every right to fight back.”

Clarke swallowed thickly.

“All those people left behind, they miss you and their lives will never be the same if they lose you again.” Her father’s words calmed her down but at the same time, she remembered all the angry looks and accusations thrown her way. Her shoulders sagged.

“Maybe they’ll be better off without me,” she whispered.

“No, honey, they wouldn’t. There is no way your daughter will be happier in a world without you. Or your mother. And even your friends, no matter how angry they may be, would rather have _you_ there than watch someone else parade your body around.”

“Or maybe you’re just saying that because I know it’s something my father would’ve said,” Clarke said quietly.

“Well, is it?” Jake asked, one of his eyebrows raised slightly, just like it always was when he knew he’d won an argument.

She just sighed deeply and didn’t answer.

They stayed seated like that for a long while and Clarke wondered absentmindedly, how could she simultaneously notice the cold floor underneath them and the hard tiles digging uncomfortably into their knees and yet not really be bothered by it.

Slowly, the darkness around them dispersed slightly and Clarke was able to catch glimpses of Josephine’s other memories. She watched her walk around Sanctum with her head held high, the unwavering confidence like she just owned the place oozing from her each move, making Clarke grit her teeth.

And then she watched her family through her own— _Josephine’s_ —eyes. She saw them smile at her easily, as if they’d forgotten who she was now. And then every time, without fail, their faces fell and dread overcame them when they remembered.

Clarke couldn’t understand it at first, that feeling coming across from those memories. It stood in such a contrast to what she herself was going through, that she couldn’t name it. Not until she watched a memory of Josephine coming up to Bellamy, sitting next to him and asking in a sing-song voice what he was doing. Not before she felt Josephine’s amusement and anticipation as she watched him, waiting for his jaw to clench as hard as it was humanly possible, his body going rigid next to her.

She was _enjoying_ it. Josephine walked amongst Clarke’s friends and observed their reactions as if she were conducting an experiment. It was almost fun to her, realising that they still hadn’t accepted the situation.

Clarke rose from the floor and straightened her back. Panic and grief washed away, and all that was left now was anger. She needed to get the fuck out of here.

“Yes, you do,” Jake said and Clarke’s eyes snapped at him in surprise. “We’re inside _your_ head, kiddo. I do know what you’re thinking.”

“Well, that’s a scary thought.” Clarke smirked at her father and when he smiled back at her, Clarke’s heart ached with longing. Oh, how she missed him.

“So, how do I get out of here, huh?” she asked. Jake said nothing, just cocked his head to the side.

“Right, you don’t know if I don’t.”

Clarke huffed, shook her head and all of a sudden, they were back in the Mount Weather dining hall. She looked around, trying to remember the layout, and turned around towards the corridor leading to the main gate.

“Well, we can start with getting out of this place. See where that gets us.”

***

Murphy glanced from behind one of those ridiculously ornate pillars and watch that woman leave her bedroom.

He refused to call her Josephine.

He didn’t understand half of what Raven said about the technology behind those fucking chips nor did he really care about how they worked. All he understood was that without access to the Sanctum’s computers, she couldn’t say much because they weren’t exactly the same as the ones in the City of Light.

Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure he really believed that Clarke was still in there, seeing how her body was moving around with absolutely no input from her.

But since finding a way to bring her back was the only thing that was keeping Bellamy in an upright position and moving forward right now, Murphy didn’t hesitate for a second before he offered to search that woman’s room.

Murphy never thought that he’d ever see his friend look more devastated than he did those first few month on the Ring, when even mentioning the ground meant that Bellamy would completely shut down – not until he watched that woman tell them all that Clarke Griffin was dead and he felt Bellamy go perfectly still by his side.

It was one thing to watch Bellamy grieve over the fact that the only reason they were alive was because Clarke chose to sacrifice herself to give them a chance of survival. But seeing Bellamy slowly waste away while that woman walked around in Clarke’s body like she had every right to it, was a heartbreak unlike anything that Murphy ever thought was possible.

Murphy waited for Emori’s signal that she was far enough and sneaked into the bedroom. He didn’t even know what exactly was he looking for but he still went through all the things thrown around the room, carefully putting everything back where he found it.

The paintings covering every square inch of the walls, propping them up on the floor and left unfinished on the easel gave him hope at first but the closer he looked at them, the more convinced he became that they didn’t come from Clarke, but instead depicted all the lifetimes that that woman had stolen away.

He must’ve looked at everything twice before he was ready to admit that there was nothing valuable here, just a lot of personal shit that only proved that if Clarke was indeed still in there, she was far beyond anyone’s reach.

And then, just as Murphy was about to leave, he noticed a crumpled ball of paper under one of the couches. It didn’t seems like a big deal at first, except what really struck him was that it appeared to be the only discarded piece of paper in the entire room. All the other paintings, no matter if they were good or bad, finished or not, were very clearly displayed, as if she was trying to paint as much as she could, as quickly as possible, so she could look at them.

Murphy picked the ball up. He unfurled it gently, careful not to rip it, and frowned when she saw the picture.

It was a charcoal drawing of a girl, maybe ten years old, splashing around in a lake, her long dark hair sticking to her face and shoulders, face split in an enormous grin. He almost dismissed it at first but then the strangest feeling came to him, like he’d actually seen in before.

Murphy stared at the drawing for a longest time until it finally hit him that he _had_.

There was an almost identical picture, only finished with trees surrounding the lake and the girl’s features more refined that she was undoubtedly Madi, in Clarke’s sketchbook.

 _Holy shit_.

Murphy folded the picture and put it in his pocket before slipping out of the room, grinning like crazy.

“Good for you, little cockroach.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading. comments and kudos will be welcomed like manna ;-)  
> and come find me on tumblr @[carrieeve](https://carrieeve.tumblr.com), we can cry and scream together.


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